Page 139 of The Sound of Him

I’m not sure what he means by that, so I sign,Why?instead.

“Why should you do that?” he asks. It’s not exactly what I wanted an answer to, but it’s close, so I nod. “I’m going to ask you to trust me and wait for me to explain that until we meet again. I don’t want you thinking about the why, which you’ll be unable to help doing if I tell you it. I want you entirely focused on building that relationship with sound. Are you okay with that? If so, I’m going to explain how I want you to build that relationship. If not, I can tell you the why.”

He did one finger for if so and two for if not.

I put up one finger, deciding to trust him.

He smiles. “You’re going to build the relationship by getting to know the sounds around you, and learning to appreciate them. I’m talking about the simple sounds, of course. You can pay closer attention to the music you hear or listen closely to what each of your friends’ voices sound like. But I also wantyou to dig a little deeper and find those sounds that we tend to automatically filter out. For example, right now? I can hear the air coming in through the heating vent on the wall. Can you?”

I glance toward the wall, knowing what vent he’s talking about. I hear it too.

I hadn’t noticed it before. It’s a very soft sound. Just a steady littleshhh.

He must be able to tell by my expression that I hear it because he says, “See? I want you to find all of those sounds, too. I almost want you to study them. Figure out where certain sounds are coming from. Pay attention to if they come and go, or if they’re steady all day - or all night - long. Learn about the sounds that make up your world and thenappreciatethem. Get comfortable with them. Do you think you can try that for me?”

I nod.

I can.

I can try.

The sounds of nighttime at the compound were the sounds of nightmares.

In the early hours, there were the sharp sounds of the masters’ cruelty. There were whips cracking and skin slapping against skin. Screams. Sobs. Cheers. Laughs.

Later, when everyone was asleep or trying to be, there were the softer sounds of misery. There were rustling blankets and muffled cries. Whimpers of pain. Sharp hisses and cut-off groans as wounds were tended to. The occasional snore when someone managed to pass out hard enough to sleep deeply. The rattling coughs of those of us battling illness.

Nights sound different at the safehouse. Not exactly quiet, but safer. Softer.

There are no words. No voices rising and falling, heavy with the expectation of my attention, broken by my lack of response. It's just the house and the gentle, wordless sounds it makes to communicate.

I know when I start to listen for sounds tomorrow, it’ll be overwhelming. Everyone will be awake, the house full of noise. Dr. Singh said I could start small, though. He also said that if I get too overwhelmed, I can take a break, can shut the noises off however I need to and let my world go quiet for a while. I have a feeling I’ll need to do that a lot tomorrow.

But tonight, for now, I feel okay.

I notice that there are the faintest sounds coming from the outdoors, if you listen for them. It’s raining, the water a soft pitter-patter on the roof, the whistling wind pressing against the windows. I wonder, when I pay attention on other nights, if there will be sounds of animals or insects. There was an owl on one of the security feeds, when Ace showed them to me all those nights ago.

The house makes sounds of its own, too.

The heating unit rumbles whenever it has to kick in, sounding angry about having to wake up. It’ll run for a stretch of minutes, until the house is deemed warm enough by the sensors, beforefalling quiet again. There’s always a slightly louder rumble right before it turns off, followed by a click-click-click as the machine expends its last bit of energy and calms.

If I’m on the main floor of the house, I can hear the clink-clink-clunk of the refrigerator making ice. I can hear the subtle buzz of its electricity, too. Since Nolan and Maison are sitting on the living room floor by the fireplace, I can hear the soft crackle-pop-hiss of the flames eating the wood.

The pool room is probably my favorite. There are so many sounds in one small space - the subtle gurgles of the filters, the higher buzz of the water heater, the lower hum of the air system trying to keep the temperature of the room stable, the barely-there buzz of the low lighting.

Tomorrow, the house will be full of sounds that will make me crawl inside my own skin. There will be so many words, some of them aimed at me, most of them expecting something in return. There will be laughter. There will be the microwave running and the fridge door opening and closing and doors slamming.

I remind myself that I can take it slow.

I appreciate the sounds of night a little longer.

Then I reward myself by seeking out my favorite sound of all; the sound of Ace.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Ace

I see the problem before anyone else does.